Cough Syrup
by Grey L. Bloom
Summary: More bits of mud from Grey. Grey goes to the Discworld. Vimes gets drugged. They go on a dozen paragraph adventure through the bowels of the Shades. Come with us! Just don't forget your pink pumps


A/N: So here we are. Vimes meets, aha, "cough syrup." Please pity him. (Yeah, yeah, Vimes is OOC... but who cares? It's easier to write when he's not arresting me...)  
  
  
Cough Syrup  
  
  
  
- Welcome to the Discworld. It is home to many things, some more disgusting than others. One is the city-state Ankh-Morpork, where rivers dribble and so does the streetlife... If we pull in closer, we pass the palace with its statues, the Sunshine Sanctuary with its donation box, the Alchemists Guild with... ah... never mind. It was there before, I swear.   
  
Anyway...  
  
... until we come to Pseudopolis Yard, the pseudo-home of the pseudo-Commander of the pseudo-Watch, Sir Samuel Vimes, the pseudo-Duke of Ankh-Morpork. As it were.  
  
And if we pull closer, into his very dark office, we can see a flash of red light illuminate the piles of paperwork for half a second.  
  
And then there's someone in the room.   
  
Watch as the door opens... Watch as Vimes walks in... Watch as he lights the candles... Watch as the crap is scared out of him... Watch as he tries not to inhale his cigar... -  
  
"Who the **** are you?!" he managed to choke out, pounding his chest with a fist.  
  
"Language, language!" said the girl sitting in his chair, giggling. "You're only allowed to swear on PAPER."  
  
Vimes stopped. "Excuse me?"  
  
She cleared her throat conscientously. "Ah. Sorry. Um."  
  
He shook his head to clear it. "So who are you and WHAT are you DOING in MY OFFICE?"  
  
"-I-... am Grey," she said importantly, shaking an index finger in the air.  
  
Vimes stared at her. "No, you're wearing a green shirt. And blue pants. And your hair isn't grey either."  
  
"Do you HAVE to take everything so literally? That's my bloody name!" The newly named Grey put her feet up on the desk.   
  
"And you're here WHY? And get your feet off my desk!"  
  
Grey paused, turned red, and took her feet off the table. "Um. Right. Sorry. Forgot myself there." She paused for a moment, grinned, and hopped up. "My, that's an awful cough you've got there," she said, suddenly innocent.  
  
"You should know, it's your fault."  
  
"Would you like some cough syrup?"  
  
"I suppose..."  
  
  
***  
Three Hours, Four Minutes, and Thirty-Two Night Clubs Later...  
***  
  
  
"You know, Vimes, hon," Grey said wearily, dragging Vimes down the street, "we really SHOULDN'T go into the Blue Cat Club again. Like, say, ever. Okay?"  
  
"But those young ladies were so nice!"  
  
Grey gritted her teeth and hauled the dignified Commander past a few leering gargoyles. "Nice, yes," she admitted after a moment. "Ladies, no." ("You're just jealous because your bazooms aren't as big," Vimes mumbled.) "Can we continue on before I lose you and you end up in a festering pit of slime wearing nothing but some pink pumps and a fetching shade of eyeshadow?"  
  
"They said it would bring out my eyes," Vimes grumbled from a few feet down.  
  
"Yes, well, I suppose," the girl said slowly, her steps faltering. "But, er..." She set him down on the curb and sat down beside him. "What do you do to people suspected of owning illegal substances?"  
  
"Lock 'em up."  
  
"What do you do to people caught USING illegal substances?"  
  
"Lock 'em up."  
  
"What do you do to-"  
  
"Oooh! Oooh! Pickmepickme! We..." Vimes tried to focus on the purple rhino climbing the building above him. "Lock 'em up?"  
  
Grey leaned against the stones and heaved a sigh. "Most likely," she said. "How am I going to get out of this?"  
  
"Lock up the purple rhino!"  
  
"... you're not helping."  
  
"The Watch is, the Watch is, the Watch is, the Watch is THERE for helping people."  
  
"Help them get a dent in their head, normally."  
  
"Tha's Vetrinary. Dents. Heads. Giant blue scorpions...?"  
  
The strange girl sat up and pointed an index finger in the air. Vimes tried to look at what she was pointing at. "VETINARI!" she screeched happily.  
  
"Whozzat?"  
  
  
***  
On The Palace's Doorstep  
***  
  
  
"Better yet, YOUR WIFE!"  
  
"Whozzat?"  
  
"Sybil Vimes née Ramkin!"  
  
"Aha."  
  
  
***  
In The Sunshine Sanctuary For Lost Dragons (a swamp dragon isn't just for Hogswatch)  
***  
  
  
"DOWN! DOWN I SAY!"  
  
"Aren't they kyoote?"  
  
"As cute as BLOODY BAG OF THUMBTACKS!"  
  
"....."  
  
"Pins."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Ye gods, you're not coming out of it yet, are you?"  
  
"Where am I?"  
  
"CRAP!"  
  
*DONK* (sound of hitting pseudo-duke on the head with a large swamp dragon)  
  
  
***  
Much, Much Later, According To This Annoying Narration That Keeps Popping Up  
***  
  
  
- And so as we pull back from the Discworld, we are warm and satisfied in the knowledge that 1) Grey has returned home to her Driver's Education homework, 2) Vimes now has a lovely, ripe headache, and 3) the Patrician hasn't managed to find out about our little adventure.  
  
Yet.  
  
Oh dear.  
  
Do you think that he can, maybe, say, er, go between dimensions? Because, see, I don't really LIKE scorpions... -  
  
  
*Das Ende (I feel so German!) 


End file.
